


Losing (There You Are)

by lambicpentametre



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 14:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5378009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambicpentametre/pseuds/lambicpentametre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was fourteen years old when she was elected to the throne of Naboo. More importantly, she was fourteen years old when she was first introduced to Sabé.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Losing (There You Are)

She was fourteen years old when she was elected to the throne of Naboo. More importantly, she was fourteen years old when she was first introduced to Sabé.

Padmé Naberrie was an intelligent girl, wildly political and far more determined than any other girl her age. While she had been labelled a prodigy because of her talent, she had also become a despised figure. Captain Panaka, the head of security, had suggested using decoys as protection soon after she was coronated to combat the threats of her political rivals. That was when Sabé had entered, a brilliant girl with a spitfire attitude who was an almost perfect replica of herself once they were both in makeup. She could barely tell the difference between them in the holos she saw afterwards; there was no denying Sabé was a perfect match. Of course there were other girls, but Sabé had been her favorite. No one protested; although they had been sent to court by their parents and had the deadly training that befitted a handmaiden of Naboo, the girls still had a sense of self preservation. Assuming the guise of Queen Amidala was far more dangerous than being in her retinue, but Sabé had done it willingly, even volunteered for it on occasion.

Sabé’s undying devotion to Amidala eventually morphed into an undying devotion to Padmé. The two girls were with each other day in and day out. There was hardly a time you would see one without the other. Even when Captain Panaka had tried to separate them for fear that they had become a predictable pair, the handmaidens had switched around their duties until the two girls were together again.

They were there to protect the Queen, and that included her heart. Padmé hadn’t even realized she was falling in love with Sabé until it was too late. They had been the best of friends, living out of each other’s pockets, sharing secrets and laughs and tears. Then the Trade Federation had invaded, and Padmé was introduced to a young boy named Anakin Skywalker. It wasn’t until after the Naboo had reclaimed their planet that the girls were able to spend time with each other

“He’s in love with me, you know,” Padmé whispered one night. Sabé was lying next to her in the bed in the Queen’s suite, tangling her fingers into Padmé’s long hair. “He made me a japor snippet. It’s beautiful. You wouldn’t think a nine year old boy would have made it.”

Sabé examined the charm hanging around Padmé’s neck. “You’re going to leave me for him, you know,” she replied. “You’ll love him far more than you love me, one day.”

Padmé shot up. “How could you say that, Sabé?” she said, her voice rising. Sabé rose slowly, meeting Padmé’s eyes with that sad smile she wore whenever they were under threat of assassination.

“I won’t apologize because it’s true,” she said. “You barely know him, yet your eyes light up when you speak of him.”

“Sabé,” Padmé began, “he’s a nine year old boy who’s being trained by the Jedi. I’ll never see him again, but I’ll live with you for the rest of my life. Even once I’m out of office, I’ll still need you. I’ll always need you.”

“No you won’t,” Sabé said. “One day, you’ll be brighter than all the stars in the galaxy, and you won’t need me anymore. You won’t need a decoy or a handmaiden or a bodyguard because you will have the respect and love of the people. No one would dare hurt you, and you won’t need any of us again.”

“I would much rather have your love than the love of the people,” Padmé replied. “If having the absolute favor of the people meant that I would lose yours, then it is not worth it.”

“And what would the people think of a ruler who would throw them all away for the love of a lowly handmaiden?” Sabé said with a teasing smile.

“And what need do I have for a people who do not believe in love when I will be out of office in two years?” Padmé answered, leaning in closer to Sabé.

“Six,” Sabé corrected, her breath ghosting across Padmé’s lips. “There’s no way you won’t be reelected, _Queen Amidala_.”

“As you say, my loyal handmaiden,” Padmé replied. Sabé leaned in just a hair further, and their lips touched. They fit together like two puzzle pieces. Padmé’s hands instinctively snaked around Sabé’s neck, while Sabé’s hands went to her waist. Sabé’s lips were softer than the grasses in the Lake Country, and her hair was silkier than Alderaanian drapes.

It was Padmé’s first kiss. All of the other handmaidens found out about it before Amidala’s first meeting the next morning, but they had said nothing. As long as Sabé posed no threat to the Queen, their relationship was relatively ignored, and Sabé would never willingly hurt Padmé.

Life had fallen into a strange routine after that. Padmé and Sabé would still trade places, the handmaidens would still protect the Queen when she made public appearances, Captain Panaka would still complain about fraternization between the decoys and the Queen, and the girls would still roll their eyes at him.

There was never any heat behind the complaints until Padmé turned seventeen. She was finally of age to début in high society; even though she was Queen, the Naberries still held a prominent position among the wealthy of Naboo. Boys who had never once expressed an interest in the girl queen now wanted to win the hand and heart of the young woman who sat on the throne. More often than not, she sent them away without speaking to them. More often than not, Sabé or one of the other handmaidens had to call Captain Panaka in the middle of the night to remove of her suitors from the Queen’s not-so-private balconies.

“For all that I used to protest your relationship with Sabé, some days I think it might make my job easier if you just announced it to the public,” Panaka grumbled one day after removing a particularly insistent suitor from the ivy below Padmé’s window.

“You know, that’s not a terrible idea, Captain,” Padmé replied.

The next day, the Queen (Padmé, this time) made a declaration to her people. Amidala wasn’t the first Queen of Naboo to have a female consort, but she was the youngest. The news had made it all the way to Coruscant, in fact, far enough to reach the ears of Senator Palpatine.

“My dear girl,” he said during one of their many briefings, “do you not think that announcing your relationship with your handmaiden to be reckless and slightly inappropriate? You have just made your entire retinue subject to the dangers once faced only by yourself and the Queen’s decoy.”

Her annoyance had grown once Palpatine had said that. He had given off an air of condescendence while he had “advised” her. “Senator Palpatine, I do not believe that the matters of my relationship have anything to do with the AgriCorps wanting to expand their presence on our moon. Furthermore, you should remember that I am still your queen and deserve such respect; I do not take being spoken down to lightly. And if my relationship did indeed endanger my retinue, it would not be much more than the dangers they already face as one of my handmaidens. Each of these women knew what the consequences of aiding me would be when they were first recruited, and they are all well-trained and know how to defend themselves. You would do best not to underestimate them,” she declared. Palpatine at least had the decency to look sheepish.

There were not too many who questioned her relationship with Sabé after that. The suitors stopped coming, recognizing the Amidala would most likely marry her handmaiden after she left office, and Palpatine had been put into his place. She and Sabé would spend their days pretending to be one person and their nights holding each other so close they were almost one being. Even their breathing was perfectly timed, and Padmé knew it couldn’t be better than that.

*****

She was twenty-two years old when she stepped down from the throne of Naboo. More importantly, she was twenty-two years old when she lost the love of her life.

She had two weeks left in office, and she and Sabé had gone out for a lunch in Theed to celebrate the last Council of Elders meeting they would have to attend as Amidala. Neither of them were in disguise; what was the need for it when there were only two weeks left in Amidala’s reign?

That decision haunted Padmé for the rest of her life.

Sabé had been in the middle of regaling her last encounter with a council member that had given them grief over the past eight years when she had dropped the glass she was holding. It had shattered into a hundred pieces when it hit the cobbled stone of the street, much like Padmé’s heart when Sabé’s smile had morphed into a frown. Her lavender dress had begun to turn a crimson red as her blood stained the delicate fabric. Padmé remembered crying out and rushing to catch her lover as she fell out of her chair. The shot had hit her heart directly; there was no hope of saving her. She had died in Padmé’s arms, but she had not been able to say her goodbyes before her heart gave out on her. Padmé could barely see anything through her tears. She could barely breathe between the sobs that wracked her body.

Padmé spent her last two weeks of office locked away in the Queen’s suite with Saché pretending to be Amidala. She barely moved and only ate when her handmaidens set a tray in front of her and forced her to. They were mourning the death of their sister, but Padmé was mourning the death of her lover. The people of Naboo knew that Saché was not Padmé, as none of the handmaidens had ever perfected Amidala’s persona as Sabé had, but they did not say anything out of respect for their Queen. Panaka had kept even the most persistent people from disturbing Padmé.

Once the formal investigation was completed, the assassin was found and brought to justice. It was the last act of Queen Amidala’s reign, and the only time Padmé made an appearance as Queen Amidala after Sabé’s death.

A reporter on Coruscant once commented that Amidala was aged beyond her years just after the Trade Federation had been expelled from Naboo. Having lived through a siege and lost her lover within a decade, Padmé was compelled to agree with the man.

Sabé was buried the day after she left office in the Lake Country where they had dreamed of retiring. The day had passed in a blur. She had refused to look at Sabé lying in her coffin; she did not want the last image of Sabé to be of her burial. She remembered the scent of the flowers and the feel of the breeze on her face long after the funeral was over, but she could not remember the feel of Sabé’s lips on her own.

Queen Jamillia offered her the Senate seat for Naboo two months later when the grieving period ended. Although she had planned to take a break from politics for a while following her time as queen, Padmé needed the distraction. She couldn’t be left in the Lake Country without Sabé. Padmé still wore the dark colors of a widow for the first few months of her time in the Senate. Each day her handmaidens waited on her, and each day she was reminded of Sabé’s absence. Sabé had promised to protect the Queen no matter what. She had given her life keeping that promise, but she had damaged Padmé’s heart in doing so.

She had thought her heart was lost forever, but as fate would have it, her luck was about to change.

Padmé ran into Obi-Wan Kenobi on her twenty-fourth birthday in a dive bar on Coruscant. She was drinking to a lost lover, and so, it appeared, was he.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she said, raising her glass in acknowledgement. He did the same, then knocked back the shot of the fluorescent blue liquid he was drinking.

“What brings a well-mannered young woman like you to a place like this, Senator Amidala?” he asked, a grim smile on his face.

“I could ask the same of you, Master Kenobi,” she replied. The bartender topped off both of their drinks. They clinked the glasses together and took another shot.

“No, not me,” Obi-Wan said, his voice rough from the alcohol. “I’m far from well-mannered, Senator.”

“Oh really?” she said, dabbing a napkin to her lips. “And why would that be? You were only ever the perfect gentleman when you were on Naboo.” He flinched when she mentioned his time on her home planet; she had forgotten that his master had died. She, like most people, had associated Obi-Wan’s stint on Naboo with his ascension to the rank of Knight and his adoption of Anakin as a padawan.

“I asked first, Senator,” he said with a teasing smile. It almost reminded her of Sabé and the way she used to use the same tone of voice with Padmé when she was being coy.

“If you must know, I am drinking to my lost lover,” she answered.

“Ah! Something we have in common,” he said, reaching over the counter to retrieve a bottle to top off their drinks. “I am drinking to a lover I will never have.”

“Jedi don’t have attachments,” she said. He nodded sagely, knocking back his drink and filling up his glass again.

“Love is messy, Senator,” Obi-Wan said. “You would do best to stay away from it.” His cloak billowed behind him as he left, but attached to the bottle he had drank from was a note that read:

_Happy Birthday, Padmé. Enjoy your evening._

Obi-Wan Kenobi was by far the most fascinating man she’d ever met. The interest grew into a mutual understanding of each other, which grew into friendship, which grew into a relations of a different sort, which could almost be labelled as— dare she say it?— love. They both knew how painful love was, and it brought them together. Every time they met, Obi-Wan managed to enthrall her more. His accent was almost a perfect Coruscanti; dressed in the right clothes, he could fool even the most adept of guards that he was one of the high socialites of the capital planet. His knowledge of the Senate was almost disturbing; sometimes he knew about events and bills before she did, yet he vastly downplayed his familiarity with the political arena. It was for the best that Obi-Wan Kenobi was a Jedi, otherwise he would have single-handedly taken over the galaxy on his charm and wit alone. He’d certainly drawn Padmé into his orbit quickly.

Where Sabé was a passion play, Obi-Wan was a puzzle. Sabé had fostered an infatuation that grew into a maturity between, drawing her in wholly. Obi-Wan fostered compassion, but he also fostered an intrigue that captivated her completely, almost as much as Sabé had taught her to love.

Their trysts were secretive, even more so than the ones she had shared with Sabé, because both of them had something to lose. Even though Sabé was deeply entrenched within the Royal Court of Naboo, she could still manage it better because it was kept in-house. If her relations with Obi-Wan got out, they would both be cast out, she from the Senate and he from the Order. It was something they couldn’t risk. The Senate was her life, but the Jedi were Obi-Wan’s home. For the first time, the secrets of love she kept were for her lover and not for her. It was a nice change, but she knew it was taxing on Obi-Wan. He was constantly lying to his padawan, and the bond between them was so complex and interwoven that it was draining to keep such a big secret for so long.

“It’s worth it,” he told her one night when they laid tangled together in her bed. She was lying on his chest, wrapped in the warm sheets as he threaded his fingers through her hair. “It’s challenging, but it’s worth it. We do not know of love in any other way. To us, what is love if it is not hard?

“Death is a cruel mistress, but I do not need to tell you that. Sabé was ripped away from you far too soon. That’s not to say that I’m not happy to be laying here with you, but I know your heart will be hers for far longer than it will be mine. We both know what we have won’t last; you’re still in love with a woman who is unreachable, and I’m in love with someone who is untouchable. We hold no illusions about that, and we’ve managed to make a happy little bubble for ourselves for just a little while. And just for this moment, as long as you’re mine, we’ll keep that happiness. But we both know that love is much crueler than death,” he said.

“Isn’t it better to have loved than to have lost?” she replied, placing her hand on his bare chest.

He sighed deeply, turning to face her. “We would rather die tomorrow to have one more day with our loved ones than live ten years knowing we would never see them again. Death is callous, yes, but love is merciless.”

She couldn’t help but agree.

Sabé and Obi-Wan were so similar sometimes, it hurt. They were both incredibly devoted to their cause, Sabé to the Queen and Obi-Wan to the Jedi. They were both incredibly devoted to her, giving her their full attention whenever she was around. They were both fiery lovers, quiet in the eyes of the public but ready to dance with danger whenever it arrived. They couldn’t resist making the impudent remark at the most inopportune and inappropriate moment, but they were always able to recover from the incident. They never backed down from a fight, they never let anyone win, and they never gave up. Perhaps it was why she had let herself fall for Obi-Wan, in all his mysteriousness and sorrow.

The intrigue had hardly worn off when Obi-Wan showed up in her apartments two weeks later with his padawan in tow. Anakin was just over nineteen and had dreamt of her every day for the past ten years, or so Obi-Wan told her when he came by to see her next. She laughed and slapped his shoulder, shrieking in delight when he pulled her closer and kissed her senseless. What they had wasn’t perfect, but it was good.

It all fell apart when Obi-Wan sent her away with Anakin. She had questioned him when he told her of the plan, on whether it was a good idea to send her away with Anakin, a boy who was clearly emotionally unstable by Jedi standards who had also held a candle for her for a decade. Obi-Wan gave her that Jedi smile, the one that barely touched his lips and never reached his eyes that almost looked like a frown if you saw it from another angle. She knew he would still send her away, because for all that they knew they didn’t truly love each other, they did care about each other immensely. And as she walked away from the platform where Obi-Wan and Captain Typho were standing, she glanced back one more time at her lover and understood.

Obi-Wan wasn’t just sending her away for protection, he was sending Anakin away as well. Anakin was the lost lover Obi-Wan had spoken of when they had first reconnected. The way that he looked at Anakin was the same way she had looked at Sabé. And though she had truly lost Sabé, she could understand why Obi-Wan saw Anakin as lost; Anakin was for all intents and purposes off limits for Obi-Wan. Not only were they both Jedi who were not allowed to have attachments, but they were a master and padawan pair. She had heard of a few such relations within the Order from Obi-Wan, but she knew it would never have worked out so perfectly for them. Obi-Wan was far too gone for it to be like that, and Anakin’s perception of attachment had been harshly skewed during his childhood on Tatooine. Obi-Wan was such a high-profile Jedi as well, being the only Jedi to vanquish a Sith Lord in the past millennia, and falling in love with his padawan would be deeply inimical to Coruscanti society today. Coming out and proclaiming his love would be social suicide for him and for the Jedi Order. If there was one thing she had learned from her time with Obi-Wan, it was that he would always do what was best for the Order, even if he suffered more.

Turning back to Anakin, she knew that was the end of her relationship with Obi-Wan. It was never going to work between them, and she knew that deep in her heart. Padmé had been mentally comparing Obi-Wan to Sabé since she had first saw him again, and Obi-Wan had had someone else in his mind every time they met.

Some part of her would always love him, though. Some part of her would always wonder what would have been if she had been able to love him properly.

*****

She was twenty-seven, and she wished things wouldn’t have turned out like this.

Padmé couldn’t quite tell where things went wrong, whether it was the trip to Tatooine she had taken with him just before the Clone Wars or when she told him she was pregnant with their child, or if it was before that, when she encountered his master in one of Coruscant’s dime-a-dozen bars or when she first kissed the Queen’s right hand maiden.

Maybe they were always destined to this fate. Maybe there was no avoiding the volcanic chaos of Mustafar. Maybe this was just the plan of the goddesses of the old Naboo legends. But one thing was certain: it would be far easier for everyone if she hadn’t loved Anakin Skywalker so much.

Sabé had known she would fall for Anakin. _“You’ll love him far more than you love me, one day,”_ she’d said. Padmé didn’t think she could love anyone as much as she had loved Sabé, didn’t think anyone could captivate her as much as Obi-Wan had, but Anakin was always defying the norm. Sabé was rain, gentle and nourishing, harsh in the cold and strong in the summer. Obi-Wan was the river, never stopping for a moment, calm, but holding the lives of many with his grace and with his power. Anakin was a hurricane, destructive and unyielding, leaving devastation in his wake. She knew it when she saw the young man he had become, moody and brilliant and desperately in love with her, but she had locked those thoughts away. Obi-Wan knew just what his then-padawan was capable of, but he blinded himself to it, just as she had, and now the galaxy was paying for it.

She had promised herself never to regret love, but Anakin made it hard. When Obi-Wan had come to tell her of Anakin’s fall, she didn’t want to believe that the father of her child could have killed younglings. She didn’t want to believe that he had participated in the genocide of the guardians of peace, the very same people who had raised him and saved him from the short life of a slave.

Obi-Wan knew that she and Anakin were married; after all, he loved them both. It didn’t take long for him to work it out, but he had never said anything. Padmé knew they had both broken his heart in one fell swoop; he lost both of the people he loved in one day. He’d once told her that his love was untouchable, that he knew what it was like to love someone who unavailable. She’d separated Anakin and herself from Obi-Wan the minute she suggested marriage, but Obi-Wan still loved her, and him. It was why she had urged Anakin to tell Obi-Wan. Maybe if they had told him, it would have given him just that much more closure, and that was the kindest thing she could have done for the man who had given up so much for her.

Maybe if she’d just learned to love Obi-Wan more, Anakin wouldn’t have fallen to the Dark Side.

“Anakin is the father, isn’t he?” Obi-Wan had said when he came to her apartments after Order 66 was enacted. It was more of a statement then a question. She couldn’t answer him. “I’m so sorry.”

Sorry for what? For not trying harder to love her? For not trying to convince Anakin that he need not go out of the Order to find someone who would love him for the rest of their lives? For not realizing just how far Anakin had fallen?

Obi-Wan had always been an ever-changing riddle, but now all she saw in him was sorrow. Padmé thought it couldn’t have been worse, but when he saw Anakin on Mustafar, it was like his heart broke all over again. She knew what it felt like, because her heart broke too, for both of the men she loved.

Her world turned to darkness as Anakin fell further and further, dragging her down with him. As he fought Obi-Wan, as she lay there on the ground slowly slipping away from the galaxy, she knew that she would forgive Anakin. He had done wrong, but he had done it to save her. Hadn’t all her lovers done that? Sabé had done everything in her power for the better part of her life to keep Amidala safe. Obi-Wan had suffered through years of lying to Anakin, whom he loved more than his own life, to make sure that her reputation would be upstanding. Anakin had sacrificed himself completely to find the power to keep her alive.

Maybe the problem didn’t lie in Anakin, but in her.

“Stop that,” said a familiar voice. Padmé couldn’t move her body, but she would know that voice anywhere.

“Don’t you dare think that you weren’t worth it,” Sabé said. “We all knew what we were doing when we fell in love with you. We knew the consequences, and we still did it anyway, because you are worth it, my Queen. And to answer your next question, I’m not really here. You’re not really here either, Padmé. You’re dying.”

“Sabé,” she croaked. In the distance, she could still hear lightsabers clashing. “Please, just let me die here.”

“Not an option, Amidala,” Sabé ordered. “You need to stay alive. Do it for me.”

“If I die here, now, then I get to leave with you,” Padmé whispered, stuttering over her words as the pain in her throat grew.

“If not for me, then for your children. Live for your children. They will die with you if you leave with me now, and I know how unhappy you would be if you came with me while your children died,” Sabé said, stoking Padmé’s cheek. “It’s been so long my love, and I hate to see you suffer, but you must live on. I promise you’ll see me soon.”

“Sabé!” she cried, as the hand on her cheek disappeared. She heard agonizing screams, but she couldn’t tell who they came from. For all she knew, they could be hers.

The next thing she remembered, she was looking up into the bright lights of her ship with Obi-Wan standing over her. Anakin hadn’t made it out of the fight then. The way they were fighting… Only one of them would have left the planet alive. Obi-Wan looked as if he was bearing the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders. In a way, she supposed, he was. Never had her love been as destructive as it had been with Anakin. This was all her fault; if she had been smarter, if she hadn’t become pregnant, if she hadn’t reciprocated Anakin’s feelings, if she hadn’t _told_ him she reciprocated those feelings, then the Republic wouldn’t be in shambles. Obi-Wan wouldn’t look like he’d aged a century in days. The Jedi would still be alive.

She would live to see her children.

“Just a little more, Padmé,” Obi-Wan whispered. “We’re almost there.”

*****

She was twenty-seven when the Republic fell to the Galactic Empire. More importantly, she was twenty-seven when she gave birth to her beautiful twins Luke and Leia.

She was twenty-seven when she died.

She spent hours in agonizing labor. Anakin had been right when he had predicted her death; although no one had died in childbirth on Coruscant in years, she could feel herself slipping away with each passing minute. Obi-Wan stood beside her, offering the comfort Anakin should have. He would have been such a good father, caring and loyal and devoted to his family above all else. She couldn’t tell if she meant Anakin or Obi-Wan. In another universe, in another time, perhaps it might have been that way, but her life was quickly turning into a nightmare. Her dreams of a family, of democracy, of _life_ , were slipping through her fingers.

She was screaming. She couldn’t remember her own name. She couldn’t think of anything but her children and the searing pain. She could feel Obi-Wan stroking her hair as he once had all those years ago in her Senate apartments. She could almost sense Sabé next to her, holding her hand tight just as she used to during the Invasion of Naboo.

She felt the absence of Anakin the most.

“You have a son,” Obi-Wan said, after what felt like hours.

“Luke,” she croaked. It was her first glimpse of her son, her darling son. She knew she wouldn’t see him ever again, but the thought was fleeting as the pain began again.

“It’s a girl,” Obi-Wan said. The goddesses only knew how long she was suffering.

“Leia,” she whispered. She could feel Sabé’s presence more and more as each second passed. She knew her time was coming.

“You’ve done so well, my love,” Sabé said, pressing her lips to Padmé’s temple. “Your children will be safe. Kenobi will take care of them. You can come with me now, my Queen.”

“My children—” she began. Sabé hushed her, brushing her hair out of her face.

“Padmé, I’m so sorry. You must come with me now. Your time here is done,” she said. Padmé could feel Obi-Wan’s eyes on her, even though her eyes were trained on Sabé. She closed her eyes again for just a moment, trying to catch her breath.

“There is still good in him,” she said with finality. She knew Obi-Wan’s heart was breaking. He was watching the woman he had once loved, the woman who had captured the heart of the man he loved, the woman who had called him friend and brother, die. He had cut down the boy he had trained, the man he had fought with, the man he had loved. The children of the loves of his life were nestled safely in his arms, tucked away in the crook of both of his elbows. Obi-Wan was a stalwart man, but even he had a breaking point. She couldn’t leave him like this. She’d broken his heart once before, and she refused to do it again.

“Padmé,” Sabé said. “Come with me. There’s nothing you can do now, not for any of them. Obi-Wan will forgive you. He’ll take care of the twins.”

“I’ll never see Luke and Leia grow up,” she replied mournfully. “I’ll never know if he’ll look like me or if she’ll have her father’s spirit. I’ll never know his first words or see her first steps. What am I supposed to do now?”

Sabé gave her a sad smile, similar to the one she’d always seen Obi-Wan wearing. “They’ll be cared for Padmé. He loves you, and he’ll make sure of it. They’ll believe in democracy, in freedom, and in love. He knows you wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s not what you wanted, but it’s the best he can do.

“Come with me.”

Sabé had never led Padmé down the wrong path before. She knew she wouldn’t do it now. Sabé grabbed her hand once more, helping her off of the cot she’d been lying on. Obi-Wan looked as if his world had just been destroyed, and it had in a way. She was dead, Anakin was gone, the Jedi were decimated, and he was left as the last man standing with two children he couldn’t care for.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her last words before Sabé led her away from the world.

*****

She was nineteen when a stormtrooper burst into her holding cell. More importantly, she was nineteen when she first met her brother.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This was written for Phoebe, who finally watched Star Wars, and for Alex, who has put up with my constant Star Wars screaming for the past year and a half. I couldn't be more thankful for you guys. The title came from Ramin Karimloo's "Losing," a very beautiful song that captures the feel of this story wonderfully. As always, feel free to leave a comment or ask me questions!


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